


The straight razor

by TooManyChoices



Series: Working out the kinks [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bathroom Sex, Frottage, M/M, Shaving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-07
Updated: 2014-04-07
Packaged: 2018-01-18 12:18:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1428217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TooManyChoices/pseuds/TooManyChoices
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is perplexed by John's habit of shaving with a straight razor. A request for a demonstration leads to intimate realisations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The straight razor

Two men and one bathroom? In many situations it might cause difficlties or even embarrassment, however when one of the inhabitants was desensitised by years of limited privacy in the Army and the other…well the other either didn’t understand the concept of personal space or simply chose to ignore it...Well, the situation worked just fine.

There were limits of course. John had put his foot down and set some basic ground rules:

  * Toilet visits are a time of solitude except in the case of extreme emergency. _There was a brief discussion on the definition of extreme._
  * Knock loudly and wait if you need to come in while the other is in the shower. _And the shower curtain is ALWAYS to be closed in future._
  * If you didn’t buy it, don’t use it. _That doesn’t include toilet paper. Toilet paper is communal._
  * The floor is slippery when wet, put a damn towel down. _Knocking yourself out and me finding you unconscious and naked was deeply disturbing._



Apart from the above, the bathroom arrangements worked surprisingly well. Sherlock’s bathroom habits were conducted with ruthless efficiency. John suspected he could set his watch by Sherlock’s showers _or at least boil an egg_. Teeth were similarly dealt with, paste, floss, rinse, done. Shaving was an exercise in practicality with shaving foam and a disposable razor replaced once a week. Even his curls were subjected to a lifetime of practiced control. John viewed the detective’s routine with something akin to awe. From bed to door in ten minutes if he didn’t stop for toast.

It was a source of intermittent conflict then that John’s habits were a little more…..erratic. Although John could implement crisis showering ( _the hot water is almost out and I haven’t rinsed_ ), he preferred a more leisurely approach of standing motionless under the spray, tipping his head back and simply hoping the water pressure would remove the grime through sheer force of will. Better yet, a long soaking bath with a good book and a glass of wine was an occasional indulgence that civilian life afforded and was all the more treasured having known the lack while in service.

The behaviour that caused the most consternation in his flatmate was John’s habit of shaving with a straight razor. If pushed for time, he could get the job done in around half an hour or even use a disposable. But to be truly honest, he preferred to take his time. There was something slightly hedonistic about the process: Softening his face with hot towels, the rhythmic motion of the brush against the soap, lathering his face before finally taking the glinting blade to his skin. Every time he used the blade, left to him by his father, he imagined the older man standing by his side firm hand on his younger shoulder.

Therefore, on any normal morning Baker Street would find John and Sherlock side by side at the sink, Sherlock moving from toothbrush, to drinking glass, to razor all the while looking at John with a quizzical frown as John methodically smiled down and swirled the brush in the pot of soap.

This morning however, Sherlock put down the glass after rinsing his mouth and sat on the closed seat of the toilet to watch.

Sensing as much as seeing the change, John lifted his eyes to check what had caused the disruption.

“Everything OK Sherlock?” John continued to build foam in the pot.

“Why do you persist in shaving with that antiquated razor?”

“Because I enjoy it, and because I think it gives a better shave.”

“How can you enjoy taking such an inordinate amount of time to finish a job that could be completed in a fraction?”

“It’s relaxing Sherlock. You should try it before you make a judgement.”

“Alright”

“Sorry?”

“Alright. Shave me. Present your evidence and prove your case….” Sherlock ran a hand across the stubble on his cheek and continued,”….persuade me.”

John’s hand on the brush slowed and finally stopped as he considered the request. Shaving another man, particularly with a straight razor was literally holding a knife to the other man’s throat. There was no question that John and Sherlock trusted each other with their lives but this felt more intimate somehow and strayed toward areas that they’d been skirting for months.

John looked down at the blade on the counter, watching the light reflect in the polished surface. “Sherlock, I’m not sure. I’ve never shaved another man before.”

“I’m sure you’ll do fine John, I’ve heard you have the hands of a surgeon.” He quipped.

John smiled more easily as the tension left the room. “Oh…funny. You’re hysterical. Cracking jokes about the man who’ll shortly be holding a knife to your throat. Thought you were a genius?”

Sherlock reached out to lift the razor, holding it out to John before solemnly adding, “A genius…who trusts you.”

“Right..OK….right.” John cleared his throat and took the blade, turning it with practiced ease in his fingers before placing it back on the counter.

He considered the logistics, height differences and settled on what seemed the most practical solution. Carefully pushing aside his shaving equipment, he cleared a space on the counter beside the sink and hoisted himself up so he was sitting with his back against the mirror on the wall. Glancing across the small room, he saw himself reflected in the full length mirror Sherlock had installed on the wall opposite to improve the light. While he couldn’t argue that the added reflection improved the lighting, the endless repetition of their images could be a little off-putting, particularly now as he saw himself oddly perched on the counter top.

“Right you…over here. If we’re going to do this, we’re doing it my way.” John fell automatically into his commanding ‘doctor voice’ gesturing to the space in front of him and widening his legs to make a space for the taller man.

Sherlock smiled, apparently eager to begin and happily willing to concede control to John’s experience. Standing directly in front of John, the position brought his head nearly level with the Doctor’s, their eyes disconcertingly level for once. They stared briefly as if daring each other to back down.

“OK, some rules.” John began.

Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes.

“No, Sherlock I’m serious. I could hurt you…badly…and I don’t want to. So you’ll stop for a moment, and you’ll listen, or we stop this right now.”

Sherlock’s shoulders slumped a little and nodded, his focus returning to John’s face.

“You need to stay still Sherlock. I mean it…..stay still. If you need to move, tell me….” John paused and looked concerned for a moment, “No, don’t tell me….don’t talk while I have a blade to your neck. Ummm, touch me on the thigh or something. Just…no sudden moves, OK?”

“Of course.”

“You’ve seen me do this enough times to know the process. Hot cloths to soften your skin, lather and then shave. Easy.” The repetition of process was as much for John’s benefit as Sherlock’s, seeking comfort in the routine.

“Easy.” Sherlock repeated, steadying his stance and placing his hands on the counter, either side of John’s hips, providing another two points of stability.

John took a moment to look down at his hands. Sherlock had referred to them as surgeon’s hands but John knew those days were behind him. The bullet had seen to that. But they were still steady and capable, and Sherlock’s unshakable confidence in him was all the courage he needed.

Leaning over, John ran hot water into the sink, and plunged a clean towel into the water before wringing it out and wrapping it firmly around the detectives face. Looking at him, swaddled with only his eyes and nose visible the situation became even more absurd and John stifled a chuckle.

“MMffmmnn?”

“Sorry. I was just thinking how pleasant it was to have you virtually gagged and motionless for once.”

“Mmmmmm…” Sherlock rolled his eyes,”MMhhmmmmmmnn” And he mimed laughing with a bob of his head as his eyes sparkled with humour.

John’s grin spread wider as he unwrapped the towel, vaguely unsettled by how vivid his flat-mate’s eyes had been when surrounded by only the white expanse of the towel. _Hold it together Watson, you have a job to do._

Tossing the damp towel into the bath, John picked up the pot of shaving soap and his brush. Having Sherlock so close and focussed was unnerving. Usually dismissive of the entire process, the detective’s analytical gaze was instead absorbing every move and step. He watched John massage the brush against the soap in lazy circles.

“Do you want to try?” John offered the brush.

Sherlock took the brush and soap and mimicked John’s movements before John gently placed his hand over the taller man’s to add a little more pressure….not much, just enough to start the lather building properly. He remembered his father doing the same thing and saying that beginners were always a little fearful of using too much force. John lost himself in the memory as their hands circled in the pot together.

“John…?”

John blinked and shook his head, dismissing the fond memories and jerked his hand from the brush. With a blush, he lifted his head to meet Sherlock’s gaze with an awkward smile. “Got a bit lost there, back now.”

Sherlock looked at him thoughtfully, before lifting the brush and glancing at it.

“Yeah. That’s enough.” _More than enough_ , “You want to do the lathering?”he thoughtful look was back again and Sherlock hesitantly asked, “Actually, no. If you don’t mind John, I’d prefer you do it. I’ve watched how you apply the foam and there seems to be a knack to it.” He held out the brush and passed it with a gentle touch of finger tips.

John looked down at the brush, and up at Sherlock. The tone of the room had changed, the silence somehow more dense, and the room somehow smaller. Not confining, simply encapsulating them in a separate world detached from time outside Baker Street. This was what John chased when he shaved himself, this sense of apartness, yet this time Sherlock was here with him in this little bubble of space. He hoped his flatmate felt something of it too.

John brought the brush up and touched it to Sherlock’s skin, spreading foam and shifting it with smooth circular motions. Moving across the jaw, so much sharper than his own. Up across cheeks, to below those ridiculous cheekbones. Down under the chin and back up. Taking his time, revelling in the patterns and rhythm, and the way the bristles flexed and moved, catching on stubble before moving on. He loved this part, and being able to do this to Sherlock, _for Sherlock_ , was intoxicating.

Looking up from the brush, he saw that the detective’s eyes had fallen shut, fluttering slightly as the movement continued. _So, not just me enjoying this._

John had always been bi-sexual, but he’d often wondered about Sherlock ‘married to my work’ Holmes. He rather suspected the truth was more along the lines of Sherlock ‘married to my work but prone to cheat in the right circumstance’ Holmes. Too many lingering glances, unexpected touches and a complete disregard for personal space had resulted in John being very much aware that any impression Sherlock gave as a non-sexual creature was just plain rubbish. Having said all that, John was a patient man and knew that the best prizes were the ones at the end of long and convoluted mazes. That was just fine, John Watson was good with maps.

Placing the brush down, John looked at the man in front of him, eyes leisurely closed and shoulders relaxed. There was a vulnerability there that Sherlock rarely showed. John hesitantly brought up his thumb in readiness to wipe the lather from full lips that had a troubling habit of appearing in his dreams as the blue-grey eyes in front of him opened slowly and John froze, momentarily stunned at the open and trusting expression in them. This was Sherlock at peace John realised, finally secure enough to take the impenetrable walls down and simply exist in the moment. It was extraordinary, it was breathtaking and in a moment of crystal clarity, John realised that what had been simple infatuation had suddenly escalated to something far deeper and more serious.

Sherlock’s eyes flicked down to John’s thumb, still hovering over those cupids-bow lips and a hand gently reached up to grasp the Doctor’s wrist. Their gazes reconnected and his hand was slowly guided forward, being granted permission to smooth away the excess foam. Unable to resist, and no longer caring if Sherlock saw _He’d probably deduced it all by now anyway_ , John allowed his own eyes to flutter closed as his thumb brushed once, then twice over warm skin. On the second pass, Sherlock parted his lips ever so slightly and placed a gentle kiss on the thumb before John felt the gentle grasp on his wrist release.

“I’m starting to see what you find so attractive about this process.” Sherlock’s voice seemed to come from miles away, rougher and deeper than usual, and John reopened his eyes to see the usually bright eyes darkened with dilated pupils.

“Yeah….” John cleared his throat, “It’s not usually quite like this.”

“Is this better?”

“Much.”

“Want to continue?”

John looked at the razor, sitting innocently on the counter. He lifted his hands, still surprisingly rock steady in spite of the tension in the room, “Oh God, yes.”

Sherlock caught his eye, “But John…..try not to kill me.”

“Promise. Now eyes front soldier. We have work to do.”

Picking up the blade, John mentally mapped out the planes of Sherlock’s face under the foam. While the general pattern of cheeks, jaw, throat remained the same, the angles were different and he’d already noted that the detective’s lower body mass added an unfamiliar firmness compared to his own.

John hooked a finger boldly into Sherlock’s waistband and dragged him closer, prompting Sherlock to shift his hands from the countertop, to John’s thighs. The pressure was warm and a little distracting, but far from unwelcome. Sherlock’s shoulders had dropped again, eyes closed and he seemed to radiate an air of surrender. John stepped up and took control.

John reached out with his left hand to cup Sherlock’s head gently but firmly and tilted it to the right before bringing the blade up with his right, taking a deep steadying breath and drawing it smoothly down the opposite cheek. Lifting the razor away and wiping it on a cloth, he brought the back of his hand up to check the result.

“Mmmm, very nice. Very nice indeed.” There was a note of approval in the words, but with an undercurrent of something dark and controlling.

The hands on his thigh clenched and the eyes opened, heavy lidded and Sherlock tensed.

“Oh, you like that?” John smiled wickedly and assumed a tone of command again, “I’ll remember that. Eyes closed again, I’m not finished with you.”

“Yes……..” The lids fell again and John heard a whispered, “……Captain.”

 _OK, that shouldn’t have been so hot but CHRIST it was._ John risked a glance down and saw Sherlock’s trousers tented away from his hips, arousal matching his own. _Time to get things moving along I think._

Tilting Sherlock’s head again, John applied upward pressure to the skin at Sherlock’s cheekbone and drew the blade down over his flatmate’s jaw. The angle was awkward and John clenched his jaw in concentration as he adapted as he went. Cleaning the blade again, he tilted to the opposite side and repeated the two strokes, leaving smooth clean skin behind. John successfully finished the opposite jaw, again frustrated at the angle.

Pausing for a moment he tapped his friend’s hand, still gripping John’s thigh as if it would provide salvation. Sherlock was breathing hard through his nose and when he opened his eyes there was a glint of something like agonised desperation lingering in the depths.

“Hey, you OK.” John lay his hand over Sherlock’s larger one.

Sherlock nodded tightly, “May have….underestimated…certain aspects of this experiment. Turns out…” Sherlock took a long shaky breath, “…our shared pursuit of danger may have other interesting ……possibilities.”

“Want to stop?”

“God no!”

“OK then. Just your throat to go.” John looked at the razor, concerned.

“What?”

“I just think…..” The frown deepened, “The angle’s wrong. Your jaw was hard enough, but this. I’m not used to working from the front. The threat of danger is fine Sherlock, but there’s a line.”

Sherlock nodded thoughtfully and taking his hands from John’s thighs, pivoted in the bracket of John’s hips. Pressing his back to John’s chest he drew the Doctor’s arms up and around his torso, the blade still in his fingers. The movement also had the effect of drawing John’s groin against Sherlock’s arse and pressing John’s neglected erection into the cleft. John’s head fell against Sherlock’s shoulder and he smothered a groan into the fabric.

Sherlock chucked deeply and wriggled back further, “Still with me…Captain?”

“I’m starting to regret the promise not to kill you……soldier. Can we please finish this and take this…conversation…somewhere else?”

“I’m entirely in your hands John.”

“Trust me, as soon as this shave is finished, you’re going to be.”

John placed two fingers on Sherlock’s chin to tilt his head back and expose the vulnerable throat. Sherlock’s jaw dropped slightly as a breathy sigh escaped his lips.

“Jesus, Sherlock. That’s not helping. Close your mouth, I need the skin tense.” Sherlock reached to still the blade before risking a rough laugh, “Lots of tense skin elsewhere. Not sure we need any more.” He rocked back against John again.

“Stop it. Just….a couple more strokes, that’s all I need.” _Wrong words….wrong!_

The laughing continued, Sherlock safe and in John’s arms, “Seriously John….only a couple more?”

John dipped his head to the curve of Sherlock’s neck and huffed a laugh, nipping gently at the skin there. “If you don’t…” _nip_ “…stop laughing…” _nip_ “…We’ll be here all day.”

Sherlock stilled and let his head drop to John’s opposite shoulder, baring his throat and murmuring, “Then let’s finish what we’ve started."

John buried his nose in the exposed neck and shivered. Placing a luscious kiss on the pale skin he drew a deep breath, lifted the blade watching light glint off the shining metal and reflecting in the mirror opposite. “Sherlock…..ready.”

“Mmmmm.”

With a sure flash of the blade, John removed the last of the foam with two precise swipes. Wiping it quickly he nudged his best friend.

"Sherlock…….Open your eyes.” He whispered, “Look at us.”

The heavy eyes opened and followed where John was looking, at the long mirror opposite them. Reflected in the glass were Sherlock, long, lean and nestled in John’s embrace. John's legs wrapped around his hips and arms around his body. One palm pressed against his chest, the other, still holding the blade, scant inches away from his throat. John’s eyes met his over his shoulder, fiery with want and yet completely dominating every aspect of Sherlock’s stance.

The velvet baritone whispered,“Christ. To hell with waiting...”

Sherlock shivered in the cage of John’s limbs and paused to take the blade from John’s hand before turning and crushing his lips against his Doctor. He rutted urgently against him, the exaggerated stillness of the room dissipating with harsh groans and gasps from them both.

"Sorry..." Sherlock muttered into John's neck, "Not going to be able to last...Wanted this......too long."

"Fuck Sherlock, I'm right there with you...Don't stop, I'm just about...."

Sherlock swore violently and shuddered, dropping the blade into the sink as he trembled through an orgasm that pushed John to his own, leaving him Clenching at Sherlock's shoulders and shouting as waves of pleasure washed through him.

Breathing against each other, Sherlock leaned heavily against John as his unsteady legs refused to hold him up properly. Gradually the fog of arousal departed and allowed rational thought to peak in.

“So….” John began.

“Haven’t done that before.”

“What? Come in your pants like a teenager. Me neither” A giggle threatened just behind the words.

“I was thinking more about the shave, but that other thing too.” Sherlock grinned and turned to John.

“So….shower?”

“Well, we’re in the right room for it. Should we close the curtain?”

“I think we’ll scrap that rule, at least today. If you’re OK with that.”

“Completely.”


End file.
